GirlSense and NonSense Evolution: A GirlSense and NonSense Anthology | Page 19

Sunday School

By Natalie Crick

Madeline loves it

And sits as Mother would.

The priest is like her Father

Dressed all in grey,

Palms fluttering with

Paper clowns,

Legs and arms spinning anti-clockwise

Like the priest's eyes slide

From side to side.

We are his for an hour

But he cannot touch us,

For we are jewels to be watched,

And, one day taken.

Nobody has ever held his hand

But Grandmother, with rings like

Little girl's warnings.

This is my house of God,

Rain thundering as

Unanswered questions.

Their faces are taught and chilled with frost.

He is the bee of androgyny

Thrusting candelabras as tusks.

This drone of activity,

It is all too much for me.

Faces dumb as naked dolls.

He strips them, licking them with stars

Like potential girlfriends

Or meats to be weighed.

LICE ARE FEEDING. THEY ARE CARNIVOROUS.

Evolution: An Anthology